SUMMER is come, and must I never see
Thro’ its dense leaves, Ristormel, aught of thee?
Never the time-defying castlewall,
The fragil bridge, the sparkling waterfall?
Ah there are other sights, how far more dear
Than castle, bridge, or river swift and clear,
Or that green meadow, or that dim retreat
Under the oaks, or that broad garden-seat,
Where thoughts were many and where words were few..
Must I, Ristormel, bid all these adieu?
Above the river’s ever-restless flow
I hear one soothing voice; it whispers no.